


only fools fall

by centuri



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, Pining Oikawa Tooru, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centuri/pseuds/centuri
Summary: Oikawa knows that this is a once-a-week thing, knows that Iwaizumi doesn’t see him as an actual romantic prospect, and he's learned to accept that. But for some reason, it’s harder to remember that this time around.Or: Oikawa falls too deep.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 18
Kudos: 409





	only fools fall

**Author's Note:**

> TW for consensual slutshaming as dirty talk.
> 
> Title is from "FOOLS" by Troye Sivan.

Iwaizumi drags Oikawa into his apartment and slams the door after them. He spins around and cages Oikawa against the wall, a dark scowl on his face, his grip unyielding on Oikawa’s bicep.

Oikawa could probably break out of it if he tried, but he doesn’t want to. Instead, he just laughs. “What’s your problem, Iwa-chan? Here I try to treat you to a nice dinner, and you’re pissy the whole time.”

“Maybe I would have appreciated it more if you weren’t flirting with the waiter every two seconds,” Iwaizumi growls.

“Why do you care?” Oikawa sneers, but his heart is pounding. “It’s not like we’re  _ together  _ or anything.”

Could it be that Iwaizumi is jealous? Surely not. Iwaizumi doesn’t - they’re not  _ like that  _ toward each other. Those lines were drawn at the very beginning. The extent of their relationship is friendship and, more recently, benefits. And though Oikawa has long accepted that he’s fallen much, much deeper than he has any right to, it’s still unbearable that Iwaizumi keeps doing things, saying things that give him these little flares of hope. He tamps them down as ruthlessly as he can, every time.

Iwaizumi grumbles something under his breath about  _ manners  _ and  _ general decency,  _ and then, louder, he says, “I’m sick of your shit, Oikawa. Flirting with everyone, sleeping around all the damn time -”

“Are you jealous? You know you can have me anytime, Iwa-chan. I’m all yours.” He smirks while he says it to hide the painful honesty in the words.

Iwaizumi’s frown deepens. “Shut up.”

Oikawa grins. “Make -”

Iwaizumi is on him before he can finish, crashing their lips together. He grabs Oikawa’s wrists and pins them against the wall, above his head, slots his thigh in between Oikawa’s legs. Oikawa groans and arches toward Iwaizumi, seeking more heat, more touch, more of anything that Iwaizumi is willing to give him.

They kiss in a furious clatter of teeth and tongue, hot and wet. Oikawa is panting when they part. “Wow,” he says, a touch breathless. “Someone’s eager.”

Iwaizumi ignores him. “Strip,” he says.

Blinking slowly, Oikawa furrows his brow. “What, here?”

“I’m going to fuck you over the dining table,” Iwaizumi says, and  _ oh. _

Well, then. That’s new, but Oikawa can’t say he’s opposed. He swallows, hard, and his hands move to undo the first button of his shirt. His fingers fumble with it, hampered by the mess of nerves tangling in his stomach, but Iwaizumi gives him a satisfied nod and spins on his heel to head to the bedroom.

While Oikawa undresses, he takes the opportunity to study the glossy hardwood surface of the table. It’s smooth and dark, polished to a finish, with a few chips here and there from years of use. First it belonged to Iwaizumi’s parents - Oikawa remembers hiding under it during games of hide-and-seek. Iwaizumi always found him and always scolded him for picking such an obvious hiding spot. Oikawa never told him that it was because he liked it when Iwaizumi caught him.

But then the Iwaizumis bought a new dining set and sent the old one to their son as soon as he moved into an apartment of his own. The intricate carvings on the side of it feel out of place compared to the sparse furnishings of the rest of the room. They’re still in college, after all, even if it’s their last year, and neither of them have much money to throw away on luxury home furniture.

And in the context of what they’re about to do, the old childhood memories feel sacreligious now. Oikawa sighs and unbuttons his slacks, letting them pool around his feet. He slips off his socks as well, and then he stands and smooths a hand over the cool wood. Maybe it would be easier to go back to those days, when there weren’t all these disastrous feelings taking up residence in Oikawa’s chest.

But then again, he doesn’t think much would change. He’s always known that Iwaizumi was it for him.

His ears perk up at the soft pad of footsteps, and he looks up in time to catch Iwaizumi’s return. Iwaizumi looks him up and down, apparently pleased with his state of undress, while Oikawa’s eyes zero in on the lube and packets of condoms in his hands. He bites his lip. So this is really happening.

Depositing the condoms and lube on the table, Iwaizumi walks around it to stand behind Oikawa. He circles his arms around Oikawa’s waist and starts kissing his neck. Oikawa hums and leans into it, tilting his head to offer more skin up to Iwaizumi’s lips.

One of Iwaizumi’s hands slides over his hip and up the expanse of his back. Iwaizumi’s lips withdraw, and instead he cups the back of Oikawa’s neck. He pushes down, bending Oikawa over the surface of the table. Then he tangles the hand in Oikawa’s curls. He tugs harshly, wrenching Oikawa’s head up and forcing his body to bend into a sloping arc. A sharp gasp escapes Oikawa’s lips. With the other hand, he tugs Oikawa’s boxers down and lets them fall to the floor.

“Look at you,” Iwaizumi says. “Does it feel good being all exposed for me like this?”

A hot flush works its way up his neck. “Iwa-chan…”

He can’t see Iwaizumi, but he can’t get the image out of his head: Iwaizumi, fully dressed, standing over his naked body. The power imbalance has his mind reeling - Iwaizumi could do anything to him like this. His cock stirs at the thought.

Iwaizumi, naturally, picks up on it. He chuckles. “Are you hard already, baby?” He reaches around to confirm his suspicions and takes Oikawa in hand. “I haven’t even done anything yet. Are you that easy?”

He strokes Oikawa a few times experimentally and Oikawa moans. “Stop - ah, stop teasing, Iwa-chan,” he says.

Pressing a kiss to the skin in between his shoulder blades, he stands. “Stay like that,” he says, and Oikawa obeys, propping himself up on his elbows.

Iwaizumi grabs the lube from its resting spot on the table. Oikawa hears the click of the bottle, and then there are slick fingers petting over his hole. He tries to press back into the contact, but Iwaizumi stops him with a smack on the side of his ass. “Stay still and take it,” he orders.

Oikawa slumps against the table, squeezes his eyes shut as Iwaizumi’s fingers prod at his rim, never breaching it. Every touch only stokes the flames inside him, and soon he can’t take anymore. “Please,” he chokes out, voice quiet. “Please, Iwa-chan.”

“Wow. I didn’t even have to tell you to beg.”

Oikawa feels the flush climb higher, hotter, and he clamps his mouth shut.

The pad of Iwaizumi’s thumb presses against his hole, and Oikawa gasps as it slowly sinks inside him.

“You’re such a slut, ‘Kawa,” he says, “trying to suck me in.”

Oikawa’s dick jumps, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. He can picture the smug smile that stretches across Iwaizumi’s lips.

“You like that, huh? When I call you a slut?”

“So mean -”

He cuts himself off to keen high in his throat when the thumb is abruptly removed and replaced with another lube-coated finger, fucked inside him hard and fast.

“You like it when I’m mean,” Iwaizumi retorts.

Iwaizumi works him open with rough, sharp thrusts. As Oikawa’s initial gasp fades into a series of breathy pants and moans, he adds another finger and begins scissoring them. Oikawa’s hands scramble for purchase on the smooth surface; his chest is pressed flush against it.

The table is cold, but Iwaizumi leans down over him and traps him against it, and Oikawa can feel body warmth rolling off of him in waves. It’s like he’s being devoured alive from two sides, ice and fire all at once.

Iwaizumi adds another finger. He grazes Oikawa’s prostate, and Oikawa moans, loud. His dick lies forgotten, hard and leaking, between his legs, and Iwaizumi knows his body well enough to drive him insane, and it’s not  _ fair. _

He doesn’t even know what he’s saying by the time Iwaizumi removes his fingers, reduced to babbling “Iwa-chan” and “please” and “more” over and over again.

“What do you want?” Iwaizumi asks. “Beg for it.”

“I want - I want -” Oikawa’s brain feels fuzzy. He wants Iwaizumi on him, in him, wants to be marked from the inside out, wants to be  _ his. _

“I wanna make Iwa-chan feel good,” he slurs at last. “Please - Iwa, please, want you to fuck me, come inside me - please -”

“God, you’re so hot when you’re desperate for it.” Oikawa vaguely registers the rustle of fabric, the crinkling of a condom wrapper, and then Iwaizumi slaps the head of his cock against Oikawa’s hole. He hears the slick squelch of it, and heady humiliation pools in his stomach.

“My pretty whore. Look at how wet you are for me.”

Oikawa whimpers. He needs the weight of Iwaizumi’s cock in him - needs to be split open - “Please, Iwa-chan! Need you, please, wanna make it good for you -”

Iwaizumi eases into him in one slow, deep thrust. It seems to last minutes, hours, years - Oikawa is stretched to the brim, achingly full, body opening wide as Iwaizumi takes his place inside like it’s his due.

Without giving Oikawa a chance to recover, he starts moving in earnest, fucking him long and hard. He keeps a steady pace - not too fast, but he makes up for that by nailing Oikawa’s prostate every time.

Oikawa moans, rocks his hips back to meet each thrust. And Iwaizumi keeps  _ talking,  _ which is the worst of it - Oikawa can barely hear him over the broken sounds coming from his lips, but when he does stop to listen, he feels alight with fire.

“You have no idea how infuriating it is,” Iwaizumi says, between grit teeth, “watching you run around flirting with every stranger who so much as  _ looks  _ at you -” a particularly sharp thrust there “- when I know I’m going to have you moaning under me every week.”

Oikawa cries out because the sensation is getting to be too much, and because it’s  _ true -  _ every Friday he goes home with Iwaizumi and lets himself get fucked into the mattress, and every Friday he leaves before Iwaizumi can ask him to go. And on the walk back to his own apartment a few blocks away, he’ll curse himself and swear to break things off the next time - and still,  _ still,  _ he can never bring himself to do it.

Pathetic, really.

Iwaizumi fists his hand in Oikawa’s hair again, this time to shove him down into the surface of the table. It’s cruel and careless; solid wood digs into Oikawa’s face. For a second his safeword - established the second or third time they slept together - flashes across his mind, but he dismisses it. He wants this, wants Iwaizumi -

“I bet that fucking  _ waiter  _ wouldn’t fuck you like this,” Iwaizumi all but snarls. “I bet he’d be nice, all that roses and chocolates bullshit. He doesn’t know you like I do - you don’t  _ want  _ nice.”

Occasionally, Oikawa has wondered whether he’s a masochist or whether he just doesn’t know how to stay away from things that are bad for him. He thinks it might be a bit of both.

“Iwa - close, ‘m close,” Oikawa says. He tries to reach down to wrap a hand around himself, but before he can even move, Iwaizumi’s hand slams down over his wrist, locking it in place.

“You can get off without it, can’t you? Slut.”

Oikawa wails as Iwaizumi continues to pound into him, battering his prostate. Every strangled noise wrung from his throat just seems to spur Iwaizumi on even more.

He slides against the table every time Iwaizumi drives into him, the polished surface now slick with his sweat. His orgasm draws tight in his lower belly, and everything is hotter because  _ this is Iwa-chan,  _ and he’s right - no one knows Oikawa’s body as well as he does.

Soon Oikawa’s eyes are rolling back into his head and he comes with a loud sob, his release spurting over the tiled floors. Iwaizumi grunts and speeds up, using his body like a toy for a few seconds longer before he’s at his limit as well. Oikawa almost wishes they hadn’t used a condom, irresponsible as it is - he wants to feel Iwaizumi spill inside him, wants to be claimed.

Iwaizumi is panting, hot breaths fanning over Oikawa’s neck, and as soon as he recovers, he pulls out, cock dragging against Oikawa’s now-puffy rim.

Oikawa takes longer to get his bearings back. He straightens with a wince - he can already feel the parts of his body that are going to be sore tomorrow. And if his face bruises, he’ll murder Iwaizumi, mind-blowing sex or no.

But that’s a problem for future him. He scans the room for his clothes, crumpled unceremoniously on the floor, and grabs them. This is always the worst part. The first time they did this, Oikawa had made the mistake of looking at Iwaizumi before he left. It was during midterms, when all the stress piling up on them had led to more shouting matches than usual, when one night they finally broke and relieved the tension the only way they knew how. Afterward, Oikawa was about to make some teasing remark - he can’t even remember what it was - but it died in his throat as soon as he saw the panic in Iwaizumi’s face.

And then Oikawa  _ understood.  _ So he brushed it off and dressed as fast as he could and bid Iwaizumi good night, and the relief on his face was so obvious that Oikawa didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Now, he keeps his back to Iwaizumi and pulls his underwear back on. “This was nice. We should do it again sometime -”

“Oikawa.”

Fuck. If only his fingers could stop shaking, maybe he would be faster with the buttons. When did it get so hard to pretend? Most weeks, he can hide his feelings well enough to fool even Iwaizumi, so why is the mask slipping now?

“Sorry, Iwa-chan, I’ll be out of your way soon.”

“You can’t really think I’m going to make you leave after that.”

Oikawa freezes.

“What?”

A heartbeat’s silence, and then there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, turning him around. He doesn’t resist, and soon Iwaizumi’s concerned face swims into view.

“You can’t go out there like this. It’s late. Come on, I’ll run you a bath.”

Oikawa lets himself be pulled along to the bathroom. Iwaizumi fills up the tub with water, warm but not scalding, and deposits a change of clothes on the counter. “Come to bed when you’re done,” he says, and Oikawa’s heart  _ aches. _

_ Come to bed -  _ isn’t that something real, actual couples say to each other? He hadn’t thought Iwaizumi was capable of being this cruel, dangling everything he wants in front of him, just out of reach.

He washes himself off quickly - the water doesn’t even have time to cool - and changes into the oversized t-shirt and boxers Iwaizumi set out.

Once he’s out in the hallway, Oikawa hesitates. The bedroom is in one direction and the front door in the other - he could walk out right now. Save a little face.

But.

He’s always been weak where Iwaizumi is concerned.

He heads to the left, flicking off the lights as he goes. Iwaizumi is already in bed, and he offers Oikawa a small, sheepish smile as he enters. Oikawa is helpless but to be drawn to him; he climbs in between the sheets as well.

It doesn’t take Iwaizumi long to fall asleep. But it takes Oikawa much, much longer, and he stares up at the ceiling in the near-darkness, listening to the even measures of Iwaizumi’s breathing.

Iwaizumi is always yelling at him for being selfish. Maybe he can push it a little more this time, too. Oikawa rolls on his side and shifts closer to Iwaizumi so that they’re almost spooning, Iwaizumi’s body curved in a loose semi-circle around his. It’s nice; the warmth radiating from his skin is a comfort. Oikawa hones in on it like some sort of heat-seeking missile.

“I love you, Hajime,” he whispers, quiet as a breath, and then he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds.

But there’s no sound of surprise from behind him, no form of acknowledgement. Oikawa doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.

He doesn’t know what will happen tomorrow morning, now that things are so unbalanced. Maybe Iwaizumi will be embarrassed to see him still there, will regret having invited him to stay. Or maybe they’ll finally get to talk, and -

Oikawa stops that train of thought right there. He shouldn’t let himself get his hopes up.

Whatever happens, at least they have tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Oikawa…… oops.
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated!


End file.
